Home For The Holidays (Whouffle)
by OswinsSouffleShop
Summary: The Doctor offers to take Clara anywhere in the universe for the holidays, but Clara wants to go home. The two embark on a week filled with frosty weather and mistletoe, one neither of them will ever forget. (How I wish the Christmas Special would go. Lighthearted and Fluffy)


**Authors Note ~ This is the beginning to a little mini-fic I will be writing over the next month. I got to thinking about the Xmas Special, and got really, really sad. So, I decided to write a sweet, fluffy alternative to it. I haven't written for these character's in a while, so they may be a bit ooc, but the situation is pretty foreign anyway.**

"If my dad asks, we took a cab," Clara informed The Doctor, stepping out from the TARDIS. They had landed in an alley way, somewhere The Doctor had hoped would keep her from trouble. The two wouldn't be needing her for several days, since Clara wanted to stay put for the holidays.

Clara's cheeks had become flushed from the brisk air, and her hand gripped tighter on her luggage, making her knuckles a deep red. The brunette's color seemed to be red today; an oxblood coat wrapped around her tight only adding to her case. That very red matched their surrounding, all lights and pines and ribbon. Whoever had decked the halls had gone ahead and decked the streets, because Clara's hometown was brimming with festivities.

"Cab," The Doctor repeated, "Got it." He gave Clara a reassuring smile, as she blew into the air, a trail of condensation appearing. The Doctor took this as his cue to get moving, so they could get inside soon. It was one of the coldest days of the year so far, and Clara had vocalized how much she disliked chilly weather. He'd suggested that they go somewhere warm for Christmas, but she had insisted that she would see her dad. She never missed a Christmas with him, and she never planned to.

"This is the first time you've gotten me when it wasn't a Wednesday," she told him, as they started down the street. A smile appeared on her lips, the only thing about her that weren't red. They were a pale pink; one The Doctor thought was akin to cherry blossoms. "Well, in this life anyway," she added, the smile fading quickly.

"This lifetime is the only one we're worrying about," The Doctor promised her, and she nodded, but he could tell she was pushing around her old memories. She always got this look on her face when she started to think about her echoes. She'd bite down on her lower lip, and her eyes would glaze over.

Suddenly her already rosy cheeks darkened into a more prominent red. "You're blushing," The Doctor pointed out, without a thought.

"Only because you did," she replied, pressing the palm of her hand to her cheek. Heat radiated from it like a radiator. If she had made that comment a few months ago a pregnant silence would've passed over them, but ever since Trenzalore the two had been doing a sort of dance. Kisses on the cheeks lingered, hugs lengthened, and cheeky remarks left more of a mark.

"First Monday," she started, "But our second Christmas together." No words needed as he moved closer to Clara, wrapping her free hand with his. She took a deep breath, tightening her hand around his. He was even colder than her, but she didn't mind, she just needed that contact.

"Promise me something?" he asked after several of them walking. It was quite the production, walking to her dad's house. It involved avoiding slippery patches and keeping their balance in the thick snow.

"Course," she replied immediately. After a beat she looked up at him with a raised brow.

"I'll tell you later," he said then, a grin on his face. Her face fell just a bit, but she wasn't angry, just curious. The Doctor had once her how important promises were.

"Just up on the left, right?" he asked, and she snapped her head to the brownstone building he had referred to.

"You saw him before, right?" she asked, and he nodded. "I don't think he'll like you," she told him, looking to see his reaction. Clara knew The Doctor like the back of her hand, but didn't expect to see him look so worried.

"Really?" He asked, and Clara laughed.

"Course not, he might just love you," she admitted with a small shrug. "He's always wanted me to find someone, and although I have made it very clear we are friends, he has a bit of an active imagination," she explained as they neared his building. "He just always wanted me to have the sort of love story he had with my mum," she continued, "but I haven't saved any men from flying leaves lately, I've been to busy saving you."

"I saved you on several occasions," he protested.

"You're the damsel in this relationship," Clara told him, slowing down as they neared a flat. Dave Oswald lived in an old converted home, split years ago in three different flats. He'd lived there for years, and to Clara it always felt like coming home.

"But I'm serious, don't blame me when he gives you a stern talk about staying away from my bedroom," she said, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"And who is to blame?" he asked.

"Artie," she replied, not missing a beat. "He surprised me with a visit about a month before I moved out of their house, and when he asked where I was Artie covered for me," she explained as she and The Doctor went up the small set of stairs placed front of her dad's flat, "but, he said I was on a date with my boyfriend."

"Artie never did like my name," The Doctor joked, and Clara bit her lip to keep another smile at bay.

Clara knocked on the door, and its reaction was almost immediate. She was enveloped in a hug, and The Doctor slunk to the side. He didn't want to interrupt them. Conversation between the two flourished, and it seemed for a while that The Doctor had been forgotten.

"Who's this?" Dave Oswald asked his daughter, looking at The Doctor, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. This was something that Clara, despite having known The Doctor more than perhaps anyone, had never seen.

"This is The Doctor," she introduced, and The Doctor's hand shot old, "I told you he was coming, didn't I?"

"The Doctor, the man without a real name," he recited as if he'd practiced, "I recall him." He shook the so-called man's hand, and tilted his head up. "I just imagined him shorter," he added.

"Mr. Oswald," he greeted, retracting his hand.

"Dave," he corrected, taking in the man before him. "And yours?" he asked, and it took The Doctor a moment to realize what he was asking.

"It's just The-," Clara started to say, surprised when he decided to give him a name.

"It's John," The Doctor told Dave," John, Smith."

"Clara Smith," Dave said, looking over to his daughter, "I think that works."

"Dad!" She shrieked, cheeks now a brilliant scarlet. "We're friends," she reminded him. Her dad didn't say anything, just looked back to The Doctor, who was, as he guessed, blushing as well. The whole situation reminded Clara of something out of secondary school.

"Your mum and I were friends," He reminded her, his voice taking a very serious note.

"But The Do-," she stopped herself, "John and I are just friends."

"Let's just go inside," Dave offered. After giving her father a worn look she looked at the door.

"Still have my old room?" she asked.

"Haven't turned it into a library yet," he replied, and from the smile they shared The Doctor could tell this was an joke of theirs. Clara moved inside the flat, and Dave turned toward The Doctor.

"There's a guest room down the hall," he informed him, "It's next to Clara's, but I'm guessing that won't be a problem since you're simply friends."

"Merely good friends," The Doctor promised him, but it tasted like a lie coming out of his mouth.


End file.
